‘I haven’t said a word that could injure you,’ Marcella replied, with something of her usual self-possession, passing her eyes distantly over his face as she spoke.

‘I knew the suggestion was unjust, when I made it.’

‘Then why should you refuse me your confidence?’

She bent forward slightly, but with her eyes cast down.  Tone and features intimated a sense of shame, due partly to the feeling that she offered complicity in deceit.

‘What can I tell you more than you know?’ said Godwin, coldly.  ’I propose to become a clergyman, and I have acknowledged to you that my motive is ambition.  As the matter concerns my conscience, that must rest with myself; I have spoken of it to no one.  But you may depend upon it that I am prepared for every difficulty that may spring up.  I knew, of course, that sooner or later some one would discover me here.  Well, I have changed my opinions, that’s all; who can demand more than that?’

Marcella answered in a tone of forced composure.

’You owe me no explanation at all.  Yet we have known each other for a long time, and it pains me that—­to be suddenly told that we are no more to each other than strangers.’

‘Are we talking like strangers, Marcella?’

She flushed, and her eyes gleamed as they fixed themselves upon him for an instant.  He had never before dreamt of addressing her so familiarly, and least of all in this moment was she prepared for it.  Godwin despised himself for the impulse to which he had yielded, but its policy was justified.  He had taken one more step in disingenuousness—­a small matter.

’Let it be one of those things on which even friends don’t open their minds to each other,’ he pursued. ’lam living in solitude, and perhaps must do so for several years yet.  If I succeed in my purposes, you will see me again on the old terms; if I fail, then too we shall be friends—­if you are willing.’

‘You won’t tell me what those purposes are?’

‘Surely you can imagine them.’

’Will you let me ask you—­do you look for help to anyone that I have seen here?’ She spoke with effort and with shame.

‘To no one that you have met,’ he answered, shortly.

’Then to some one in Exeter?  I have been told that you have friends.’

He was irritated by her persistency, and his own inability to decide upon the most prudent way of answering.

‘You mean the Warricombe family, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’

’I think it very likely that Mr. Warricombe may be able to help me substantially.’

Marcella kept silence.  Then, without raising her eyes, she murmured: 

‘You will tell me no more?’

‘There is nothing more to tell.’

She bit her lips, as if to compel them to muteness.  Her breath came quickly; she glanced this way and that, like one who sought an escape.  After eyeing her askance for a moment, Peak rose.